


Final Flops

by oxymoronassoc



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 09:26:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11159013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxymoronassoc/pseuds/oxymoronassoc
Summary: A comedic AU circa S3.Originally written 5-1-2006.





	Final Flops

In the grand scheme of things, everything was going pretty well. The humans were fracked, God's plan was going as, well, planned, and D'anna Biers was living the high life as overlord of the cylons. Sure, she told them they were all equal, but like anyone actually bought that load of propaganda bullshit? Well, the fives did. That's why they served lattes and dug holes for trees.

The thought of lattes made her mouth water, and she wondered what weird quirk in their programming made them crave espresso so much. She didn't worry about it though; lattes were second only to God in her book. Before she could have a latte, however, she had to deal with a little problem. Or, to be correct, a rather large, bursting-at-the-seams-of-his-officer's-uniform-but-not-in-a-manly-way problem. 

Some genius had decided that they should all meet up on one of the abandoned Colonial ships. D'anna suspected Cavil had come up with this idea and it was some sort of idiotic nihilistic joke, but the others had agreed before she could show them the error of their way with a two-by-four to the head. It was most unfortunate. 

So now she was forced to lug Commander Lee Adama and his fat ass (and she did mean fat) across the damn fleet, which was so beneath her dignity. Really, these people needed to show her some respect. Without her they were nothing. Nothing! D'anna fumed and her latte craving grew to an unbearable level. Maybe Apollo was hiding some coffee in his pockets. No, she thought dismissively, probably only ramen noodles. Humanity needed to be shown the error of their ways. God loved lattes, not fracking ramen noodles. 

When they finally docked at the ship, D'anna felt a headache blooming behind one eye. She wasn't sure why she got headaches, but lattes fixed whatever it was. Shoving the handcuffed Commander along in front of her (not that he could run very far or fast in his state, stuffed as he was into his uniform), D'anna took a short detour to the vending machines, knocking one over with a vicious kick and fishing out one of those disgusting pre-made coffee drinks. It was better than nothing. She chugged it mulishly as she prodded the Commander back down the corridors to the cylon meeting place.

"Don't give me any trouble or I'll kick you in the teeth," she told her prisoner as they paused outside the doors to the conference room. D'anna straightened her cheerful yellow shirt and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. "Understand?"

"You're not going to get away with this," the man said calmly.

"Oh shut up. You're screwed and you know it. There are no buttons to push now, Commander." She chuckled at her own joke as she opened the door and shoved him into the dimly lit room.

"What did you put in those noodles? I don't feel so well."

Well that figured. Now the drugs were taking effect. D'anna mentally scolded herself for not accounting for increased body mass, but who would have guessed?!

"Maybe if you chewed your food instead of slurping it whole," she suggested in a nasty tone. 

He opened his mouth to protest, but D'anna punched him in the gut and he just made indistinct noises instead. That was better.

The door opened and Six and Boomer came sauntering in, looking cool as cucumbers. D'anna blew a lock of hair away from her face; she had split ends. Maybe if those two spent more time trying to implement the Plan and less time deep conditioning they'd actually be getting somewhere with this whole God's Infinite Mercy thing.

Simon was the last to scraggle in, as usual. Even Leoben was timelier than Simon. D'anna would be having a chat with him about that later; it would involve his head and the conference table. 

"Are we all here?" D'anna snapped as the others shuffled about. She noticed Doral had a latte, that bastard. If it was a double shot caramel soy, she was going to box him so fast he wasn't even going to know he died. 

"Indeed," Cavil murmured, looking far too pleased. D'anna contemplated shooting him right there, but then they'd have to wait for him to download before these shenanigans could commence and she was already bored. 

"Well, what did you need to discuss?" she asked, glaring at Doral until he backed into a table and spilled the coffee all over his ugly emerald green suit, the one that made him look like a demented leprechaun. 

"The Final Five," he said.

"Oh God, not this again." D'anna hoped she hadn't just said that aloud. 

"Is it time?" Boomer asked, looking eager and clasping her hands to her meager bosom. Personally, D'anna thought the Eights could all benefit from a push-up bra or two. 

"Oh, come on, like it isn't patently obvious?" D'anna rolled her eyes. "Let's get on with it."

"Apollo?" Boomer asked, finally noticing D'anna's prisoner. 

"I'm keeping him for questioning," D'anna snapped when they all turned their eyes on her. Six had the audacity to laugh. Bitch was gonna die.

"I'm so excited," Boomer said, beaming at Leoben who stared back at her like he'd never seen her before in his life. That or he was drunk again. That Thrace girl was a bad influence.  
They made their way to the set of doors at the end of the conference room and Doral tried to open them, but D'anna shoved him out of the way. She was the goddamn leader. God love her. Her. Not them. 

The doors opened on another dimly lit room. An executive chair sat at the end of one table, the back to the doors. Around the table were ten seats, five of which were occupied. D'anna sighed. Cylons were such drama queens.

"Good afternoon," she said, breezing her way into the room and making a beeline for the chair at the head of the table.

A man's laughter came from the executive chair. D'anna paused. This whole charade might be ludicrous, but no one laughed at D'anna Biers. "Ah, Eight. So lovely of you to join us." The voice held a cultured accent; it reminded D'anna of that crazy Doctor Baltar. Oh God, please don't let him be Twelve. She'd even take Kara Thrace over him.

The chair turned slowly and, as the man was revealed, D'anna could only stare. 

"Lee Adama is the cylon overlord?!" Sweet father in heaven.

"I am?!" 

She turned to stare from her overweight captive to the man slouching indolently in the expensive leather chair, a cigarette in one hand and a cut-glass tumbler of ambrosia in the other. Well, maybe today wasn't going to end up so bad after all.

"I prefer Apollo. I enjoy irritating the pagans." He grinned and D'anna wanted to tell him his smile was really too boyish to be considered sultry, but she wasn't going to argue at a time like this.

Her prisoner made a noise like he was choking on his own spit. He probably was.

"My goodness, what have you done to yourself," Apollo asked Lee. Lee looked uncomfortable. "Eleven, I'm going to have to kill you for this."

"Look, man, I can't help it if you have a weakness for noodles."

"You stole my girlfriend," Apollo hissed angrily. 

Oh God, Anders was a cylon. Why? What had she done to deserve this? Final Five? More like Final Flops.

"Hey!" Lee protested and D'anna tripped him as he waddled towards Apollo and stuck a foot in his back. 

"Dear Heaven," a female voice gasped, peering down at Lee. "Is that the Commander?"

"No, it's a human ramen packet," D'anna muttered.

The blonde woman tsked and shook her head before smiling at D'anna. D'anna was willing to bet she wasn't a natural blonde. "What a shame. He was so good in bed too." 

D'anna stared. "Who are you?"

The woman smiled and D'annawas vaguely creeped out except she knew she could take this floozy in the low-cut dress. "I'm Two. You can call me Shevon." 

"Oh gods, the hooker," Lee muttered into the carpet. He hoped Kara was on her way to save him. Then he remembered they hated each other now and she was stuck on New Craprica. He still hoped she was on her way. You never knew with Kara Thrace.

"You shot me!" Boomer yelped, pointing at one of the Final Flops.

"I'm sorry!" the other model said. "Can you forgive me?"

"Of course! God forgives us all!" The two embraced and D'anna thought she might vomit.

"Cally?!" Lee moaned into the carpet and D'anna pressed her foot more firmly into his flab.

"I prefer to be called Seven," she murmured with an impish grin.

"I though you were pregnant." Eleven had brought his pyramid ball and was bouncing it off the conference table, ignoring the glares of Lee, Apollo, and Six. Well, Lee was glaring through the carpet, so perhaps that didn't count.

She waved a hand at that. "It was fake. Wasn't I so cute though?!"

"Totally," Boomer gushed.

D'anna was disgusted with this whole affair. She held a hand up. "I don't even want to know who Nine is." 

"Figures," a disgruntled voice said sulkily before sighing in a put upon manner. "No one ever wants to get to know me. Just use me for my mind and my models and then throw me on the wayside!"

Gaeta. It figured. It really did. 

The door suddenly burst open and a helmeted, black-clad figure stepped into the room, a handgun in each hand. 

"Everyone freeze!" 

Four head swiveled to stare at the slight figure. Well, Lee's tried to swivel and all he got was a case of rug burn for his efforts. 

One hand snapped the goggles up onto her head and Kara Thrace stared at the assembly.

"Don't tell me," D'anna muttered, putting a hand to her aching head. "You're Thirteen."

"No, I'm Kara Thrace." She frowned. "Lee, I thought you were fat."

"I am!"

Kara pointed her gun at him before peering around D'anna's foot. "Oh, so you are." She sounded pleased. She cleared her throat before looking back up. "Who are you then?"

"He's a cylon!"

"Thank you, Lee…wait, how do I know you aren't a cylon too?!"

"I'm fat!"

"Oh, good point." She cocked her gun, leveling it at the cylons. "Everyone against the wall."

"Aww, Kara," Eleven started in an amiable tone.

"Shut the frack up, Sammy."

"You knew?!" he asked, missing a bounce with his ball and hitting himself in the face.

"Uh, everyone knew."

"I didn't," Lee said sadly into the carpet.

"That isn't an excuse," Kara told him.

D'anna decided she'd had enough of this. Her headache was roaring through her skull, Lee Fracking Adama was the cylon lord, Six and Boomer were plotting without her, Leoben looked like he was about to orgasm, and she still didn't have a fracking latte. She pulled her gun out, turned, and shot all the other cylon models with a laugh. "After this," she murmured between smirks, "I'm gonna go blow every single one of you up. This is not God's plan." God's plan, she decided, was now knitting sweaters for cats in a bungalow on New Caprica. 

When she ran out of bullets, she looked around for the metaphorical twins, but they'd escaped. 

 

Epilogue:

One afternoon, four months after the cylons all mysteriously died, there was a knock on the door. Lee, fit and trim once more after four months of Kara's cooking, answered the front door, holding the baby gingerly incase it decided to spit up on him again. Kara claimed it was a sign of affection, but he had his doubts. Then again, what did he know about kids?

There was a basket on the front step, and in it sat a tiny kitten wearing a cunning orange and pink Fair Isle sweater. Lee stooped to pick up the note and the baby started to try and rip his hair out again. He grimaced, fending off chubby, sticky hands as he read the note.

"A gift for the heroes" it said. Lee shrugged and brought the kitten inside. The baby cooed.


End file.
